b r i t t (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
smithereens) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
augustines2013-03-16 10:14 pm
smithereens) wrote in augustines2013-03-16 10:14 pm
Entry tags:
in another life.
“The fate of a princess is to be bartered and bought like a cow,” she says, not without the faintest taint of bitterness on her tongue, and stares unseeingly out of her window, into the starry night sky.
Shakir stirs behind her; she can hear the bedsheets rustle and whisper as he stands, and his arms encircle her waist a moment later, pulling her back against his chest. There’s something involuntary in how she finds herself sighing and relaxing against him, his bare skin warm through the thin fabric of her dressing gown.
“You’re much prettier than a cow, at least,” he says mildly, and she can see his impish smile in the inflection of his voice, without her having to turn and look at him.
Sihai scowls in a way most unbecoming of a princess. “Shakir.”
She feels his laugh rumble deep in his chest long before she hears it, and the sensation makes her shiver and subsequently tense as he pulls aside the collar of her dressing gown and presses gentle, open-mouthed kisses to the skin he exposes, until her shoulder is bare and the knotted belt around her waist loosens and threatens to unravel entirely.
“Shakir,” she says again, and tries to pull away; but his arms close more tightly around her waist and he chuckles again, low in her ear, and she can’t decide which one more thoroughly stops her.
“Do you regret it,” he says abruptly, lips moving against her skin, caught in the middle of another kiss, “that you were born a princess to be bought?”
She’s silent for a moment as the question churns through her thoughts, conscious only of the spill of his breath over her collarbone in intervals odd enough that she imagines he’s anxious for her answer. The knowledge warms her. If she regrets being a princess, then she regrets every path of her life that brought her to Saarinen, that brought her to Shakir—
“No,” she says finally, turning in the circle of his arms and reaching up to grasp his chin between her thumb and forefinger, tipping his head down towards her. His gaze is fierce. “But I regret that it couldn’t be you who—”
The sudden hot press of his mouth against hers silences her, his fingers raking through her hair and stealing the breath from her lungs. I regret that too, he doesn’t say. I would buy you a thousand times over, he doesn’t say either, but Sihai squeezes her eyes shut and hears it all the same.
He pulls her back to bed, where the high price of king’s daughters matters a little less, and she clutches him just a little more tightly until morning.
Shakir stirs behind her; she can hear the bedsheets rustle and whisper as he stands, and his arms encircle her waist a moment later, pulling her back against his chest. There’s something involuntary in how she finds herself sighing and relaxing against him, his bare skin warm through the thin fabric of her dressing gown.
“You’re much prettier than a cow, at least,” he says mildly, and she can see his impish smile in the inflection of his voice, without her having to turn and look at him.
Sihai scowls in a way most unbecoming of a princess. “Shakir.”
She feels his laugh rumble deep in his chest long before she hears it, and the sensation makes her shiver and subsequently tense as he pulls aside the collar of her dressing gown and presses gentle, open-mouthed kisses to the skin he exposes, until her shoulder is bare and the knotted belt around her waist loosens and threatens to unravel entirely.
“Shakir,” she says again, and tries to pull away; but his arms close more tightly around her waist and he chuckles again, low in her ear, and she can’t decide which one more thoroughly stops her.
“Do you regret it,” he says abruptly, lips moving against her skin, caught in the middle of another kiss, “that you were born a princess to be bought?”
She’s silent for a moment as the question churns through her thoughts, conscious only of the spill of his breath over her collarbone in intervals odd enough that she imagines he’s anxious for her answer. The knowledge warms her. If she regrets being a princess, then she regrets every path of her life that brought her to Saarinen, that brought her to Shakir—
“No,” she says finally, turning in the circle of his arms and reaching up to grasp his chin between her thumb and forefinger, tipping his head down towards her. His gaze is fierce. “But I regret that it couldn’t be you who—”
The sudden hot press of his mouth against hers silences her, his fingers raking through her hair and stealing the breath from her lungs. I regret that too, he doesn’t say. I would buy you a thousand times over, he doesn’t say either, but Sihai squeezes her eyes shut and hears it all the same.
He pulls her back to bed, where the high price of king’s daughters matters a little less, and she clutches him just a little more tightly until morning.